So Cold
by jewel21
Summary: Bosco's P.O.V. in Cosmic Castaway's story, "Without My Consent." * I got CCA's full permission ... it was actually her idea, so please be gentle :) *


Author's Note: This story is based on CCA's fic "Without My Consent." I want to thank her for giving me permission to take her story and run with it so to speak. If you haven't read her story yet, and I'm seriously questioning why not, I suggest that you do :) Not only is it a wonderful piece, but it will help you understand this story as well.   
  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allen Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I don't know.  
  
  
  
  
So Cold: by Jewel21  
  
  
Life is funny sometimes. You think you've got it all figured out when suddenly it throws you a curve ball. It leaves you dumb-founded and speechless. That's what I'm thinking, as I lay strapped in this car, my car - my deathbed.   
  
I didn't see the other car coming towards me. Not until it was too late. I was driving home from work, wondering what was on TV tonight, when it came out of nowhere. The other car's blinding headlights cut across my field of vision as the shrill sound of squealing tires suddenly interrupted my thoughts. The car, my car, started flipping. I remember thinking how it was the oddest sensation. I felt as though I was outside of myself, observing what was happening to me in slow motion. I remember being acutely aware of a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds bleeding together like a really bad acid trip. Finally, the roller coaster ride I was taken on, without my consent, stopped just as suddenly as it had started. I'm upside-down now; I can feel the seat belt, my seat belt, biting into me, strapping me into my car. It's funny, we try to teach people to wear seat belts because they're supposed to save lives, but I know that it won't be enough to save mine.   
  
There's blood seeping into my eyes. I can feel the warm liquid, my essence, seeping out of me and there's nothing that I can do to stop it. I, Maurice Boscorelli, am completely helpless. And as I think these thoughts, my last thoughts, I see my loved ones - my family's faces before me. I see Ma and I just want to cry. I want to tell here that I'm sorry. That I wish I could have been a better son. I wish I could have made her proud, really proud. I want to tell her that I'm so sorry for what happened with Mikey. I'm sorry that I arrested him. I only did it because I love him, because I wanted to help him and this was the only way I knew how. I wanted to set him on the right track. I only hope that my death won't fuck him up even more. I want to explain to her, to make her understand why I did it. But, more importantly, I want to tell her that I love her. That I always loved her, even during all those times growing up that I told her I didn't because I was mad or hurt. I only pray that somehow she knows, that she always knew.   
  
Next, I see Mikey. I want to tell him that I love him and that I only did what I did because he's my baby brother and I didn't want to see him get hurt. He has so much potential; I just want to see him recognize it, to be someone - something. Mikey never knew how to handle stuff growing up so he escaped by doing drugs. They helped him to deal by allowing him to forget. It was his way of surviving. I know he always thought that I knew everything growing up, that I had all the answers, but I want to tell him that I didn't. I don't know everything. I don't know anything. I'm just as lost as he is. I'm just better at hiding it. I hope that he won't lose himself even more than he already has once I'm gone. I want him to live, to really live. I only hope he can.  
  
The next person that I find myself thinking about is my dad. I never got to ask him why? Why did he hate me so much growing up? Why couldn't he just love us? There are so many questions that I want to ask him, that I've always wondered. And, as I lie here bleeding, I realize that I'm never going to get that chance. I'm never going to find out why he did what he did. I'm going to die and I'm never going to find out who my father really was. I wonder if he'll care that I'm gone?  
  
I see Faith, and I can feel the tears sliding down my face. I wonder how all of this is going to affect her? I know that I'm leaving her to fend for herself. I want to tell her that I love her, too. That all those times I gave her attitude or made fun of her, I loved her. She was the only person who ever took the time to know me. To dig down and try to find the real Maurice Boscorelli. She saw something in me that no one else ever has. She saw potential. I want to tell her that I'm sorry about her cancer. And, I want to ask her why she felt that she couldn't confide in me about it, like I've confided in her so many times before. I want to tell her that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that she felt she couldn't trust me with something that important and I wish that I could go back and do things differently. To go back to all those times I acted like an insensitive jerk and do it all over again, the right way. I want to tell her that she's an amazing cop, that I always had faith in her. I've always believed that she would do the right thing out there. And, the last thing that I want to tell her is that I'm glad I got to meet her, to have had her in my life. I don't know what I did to deserve someone like her but I'm glad that I had the opportunity to know her. I'm proud to be her partner and to have had her as mine. I was truly blessed in that aspect of my life. I only hope that her next partner takes care of her and treats her better than I did.   
  
And lastly, as I sit in this car, waiting for help that I know is not going to come in time, I think about how life is so unfair. I don't want to die. Not here, like this. This isn't supposed to be the way it happens. I always thought that I'd die an old man in my bed, or on the job trying to make the world a better place. Not on my way home from work. Not like this. There is still so much that I want to do and say. All those things I've always wanted to do but never got around to, because I figured there would always be tomorrow. But there will be no tomorrow. There's only now. I think about how there are so many things I never got to experience. I'm only 32 years old damn it! I've never experienced true love. I want to get married and have kids someday, to make mom a Grandma, to be a Grandfather someday myself. I'll never be able to do that now. It's not fair. I'm not ready. I always thought of myself as being invincible. I was always the one running into a situation half-cocked, driving Faith insane, thinking that nothing was ever going to hurt me. That nothing could ever touch me. God was I wrong. It's cold now...it's so cold and dark. I hate the dark. It's getting harder to think - to focus and I know that this is my goodbye. I can feel the darkness seeping in and the last thought I have before it overpowers me is that I don't want to die. Not like this. I don't want to die alone.   
  
  
End 


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